


Merry Our Meeting

by amyfortuna



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, First Meetings, Gen, Rain, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn and Legolas meet for the first time in the middle of a thunder-battle in the Misty Mountains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Our Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bold_seer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/gifts).



He had never seen such a storm. Rivendell's weather was mild, always calm and under control. It was a protected valley, a safe place, and there no great rage of wind or rain could come. At times the rain did fall heavily, of course, and Aragorn had always liked to look out at it from the safety of his bedroom, listening to the sound of the trees sighing and the patter of rain on the roof. 

But he had left the safety of Rivendell and his childhood behind a few years ago, venturing out into the Wild, taking the name that he was called in derision by the townspeople of Bree and making it into a name to be feared by Orcs and all other evil creatures. 

At the moment, he was high up in the Misty Mountains, heading down towards the Anduin Valley, watching stone giants throwing great lumps of rock to and fro between themselves, hoping not to get inadvertently hit by one of them. He was some distance away, but it was still a frightening spectacle - vast creatures made from stone rising from the mountains themselves, roaring violently. They seemed to have no purpose in the world but rage, and their very hugeness was terrifying. Aragorn, curled up in a cloak that was long ago drenched through, sat and shivered, summer though it was, in the most sheltered spot he could find, which was merely an overhang of rock just off the path and about as much shelter in the driving rain as no shelter at all would have been. 

He had resigned himself to a cold and bitter night, and sat hunched up miserably, a forlorn figure on a dark path high up in the mountains, alone and weary. Sleep was an impossibility: the pouring rain at the back of his neck just as much as the fear of the stone giants saw to that, and he was in fact halfway to giving all up all his fine notions about proving himself and winning the hand of the beauteous Arwen for his own, and just rushing back to his mother and the warm fires of Rivendell at the earliest chance. 

There was a sound of footsteps in the distance, and a cheery whistle. Someone was coming up the path. Cautiously, Aragorn rose to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. As far as he had ever heard, Orcs and other evil things did not whistle so merrily, but he could not be sure. 

The footsteps drew closer and rounded the corner; Aragorn blinked sleep and rain out of his eyes and peered into the murk. He was greeted by a laugh. 

"Well met!" a cheerfully bright voice said. "But do I meet a Man, or a drowned rat?" The Elf before him, clad in green and brown, was blue-eyed and blond-haired, one of the Sindar rather than the Noldorin Elves Aragorn had grown up with. He carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows slung over one shoulder, and though he was at least as drenched as Aragorn, appeared not to mind the rain one bit. 

Despite himself, Aragorn could not help but laugh. "Well met, stranger!" he said. "If it is possible for someone to be both at once, I fear I have that dubious honour." He held out a hand. "Strider I am called, and I am at your service." 

A look of surprise and delight passed over the Elf's face as he took Aragorn's hand. "I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and by all means, I am at yours."


End file.
